


Donuts for Dinner

by AvaKelly



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: D/s elements, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Gentle Dom, M/M, Misunderstandings, Praise Kink, Relationship Negotiation, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sexual Inexperience, Steve's an idiot, bucky helps, clint's also an idiot but less of one, nat hisses, only a little bit of angst, porn with angst, references to clint's inner puppy, sam's along for the ride, that's a thing now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21916234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaKelly/pseuds/AvaKelly
Summary: A companion piece toCookies at Breakfast, telling the story of how Clint and Steve got together. Timewise, it happens before Cookies.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Steve Rogers
Comments: 34
Kudos: 163





	Donuts for Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Time for some prawns. Hope you enjoy. Please let me know if anything else needs tagging. 
> 
> Not beta'd yet, so mistakes might be in there. Also, beta'ing will happen in the new future but I'm impatient, so putting this out there now. :)

The mission, after days of being on the edge of adrenaline fueled chaos, has been a success. Steve's kept his head, Clint's avoided major injury. Their involvement remained undiscovered for the high profiles they have. It's why the two of them went alone, to minimize the risk of exposure. Clint sniped, Steve provided backup without being too pushy. Overall, it speaks for their training, the way they managed to fall into synch. Clint knows, it's been hard for Steve to sit back and watch, just as it was for Clint to not take initiative and listen to orders. But he did it, Nat would be proud of both. 

Now, though, they're waiting for extraction in the tiniest freakin' hotel room in rural France, far away from any semblance of a night life, and Clint's skin itches. He wishes he could at least rub one out, to take the edge off, but Steve is lying right next to him on the narrow bed. The bathroom door doesn't close all the way and sound from inside echoes. Even if he were quiet, Steve would catch it. So that's a no go. 

He tries to relax back into the lumpy pillow. Only six hours until transport gets here. Around ten on the flight back, a couple more to make himself presentable, and then maybe he can hit a club. Sounds like a plan. 

Except… Steve's fidgeting. Not too much. If Clint were asleep, he wouldn't feel it, but as high strung as he is, Steve must be even more so, and all the little movements betray him. At times, his breath comes out in stilted half-inhales. From where he lies on his back, Clint carefully peeks through his eyelashes. The room is not quite dark, the curtains on the window ensuring privacy but not thick enough to keep out the direct shine of the streetlight on their second story accommodations. Clint can clearly see the outline of Steve's hard dick under the thin blanket. 

He stifles a sigh just in time for Steve to make an aborted movement. 

Clint carefully keeps himself where he is, mindful of his breathing. Even though adrenaline boners are expected, he knows how embarrassing it could be. He and Nat might've fucked like bunnies after some particularly gruesome missions, and he might've given himself a few handjobs under Phil's watching eye—because they're both kinky bastards, although their interests never lined up in a way to create a spark between them—but Clint's not that close to Steve. A few communal showers don't suddenly convey intimacy and he's trying to give Steve the privacy he needs to get himself under control. 

~

Half an hour later, Steve's not better. He's started rolling around, refusing to seek release. It's obvious by now that his erection won't fade, so why won't he just take care of it? Clint's a champ of feigning sleep, Steve shouldn't be able to tell he's aware. 

Steve's heels dig into the mattress, his back arches a little bit off the bed, and the sound that leaves his throat is so close to a whine, that Clint groans in sympathy. 

Out loud. 

Steve gasps and Clint gives up pretense. 

"Grab your damn dick already," Clint mutters, unwilling to open his eyes. 

Cloth shuffles and Clint's expecting the sound to become rhythmic, but nothing else follows. He looks, finally, finding Steve tense like a bowstring, hand wrapped around his dick over the blanket. He's blinking at the ceiling, lips halfway parted. 

"Squeeze," Clint says before he can stop himself because _ oh, boy _ , such a bad idea. 

But that itch from before is back, after spending so much time following orders. He's not made for that, and the lizard brain driving his urges pushes him to seek control. 

Against all odds, Steve complies. A shudder follows, a long exhale, and Steve licks his lips. Sound forms in Steve's throat, guttural and raw. For a moment, Clint thinks it's another breath out, but then he registers the barely there question. "What now?"

Sudden warmth blooms in Clint's chest, then travels down to pool low in his belly. Fuck it. He rolls on his side, leans up on an elbow. 

"Steve, what is this?"

In his defense, Steve blinks at him, lost. Wary. Embarrassed already. It makes Clint giddy. He decides to not beat around the bush. 

"Do you want me to make you come?"

Steve nods jerkily, but there's no pause, nothing to signify uncertainty. His face is red, though, as far as Clint can tell. Well, best get on with it, Clint thinks. 

"Do you want me to make you come while giving you orders?"

Steve's breath stutters and he nods again. The shadows on his cheeks darken. 

"I need to hear you say it out loud. Consent is sexy, baby, isn't it?"

For the third time Steve nods, and then he catches himself, because he says, "Yes, please."

"Good boy," Clint praises, out of reflex. 

It's welcome, though, 'cause Steve whines again. 

"You like that huh?" Another nod. So non-verbal cues it is. "May I touch you?" 

Another confirmation follows. Clint smiles as encouragingly as he can and covers Steve's hand with his. The throb of his dick reverberates through both their palms. Sheesh, he thinks, but keeps his attention on Steve's face.

"You know what else good boys do? They say 'yes' and 'no' when asked a question. Or we turn on the light so I can see you. Don't wanna hurt you." 

Steve's free hand shoots up to catch onto Clint's t-shirt. "I—" His voice cracks and Clint waits patiently. "Can't we just..." 

"Not tonight, baby. Some other time, if you want. After I know you better."

Long seconds tick away while Steve chews his lip. His dick pulses under their hands. Clint thrums at the prospect, but he doesn't push. 

Finally, Steve relaxes against the mattress. "Okay, I'll—I'll say it."

"Thank you, baby," Clint says. He legs go of Steve's hand to untangle the other from his t-shirt. Presses a kiss to his knuckles. "Have you done anything like this before?"

Steve shakes his head, but he follows with, "No."

Clint kisses his fingers. "Then here are the rules: red means stop, yellow mean pause, green is keep going. Got it?"

A whispery yes, and Clint requests a repeat. Damn, but Steve's strong leader persona is gone when he reiterates the colors, voice shaky. Clint wants to bundle him in a room and not let him go until he's come his brains out. 

"That's my boy," he praises after Steve's finished. 

Steve's hips buck off the bed and Clint grins. 

"Impatient," he comments. "Naww, don't look away from me, sweetheart. Squeeze your dick again, baby. Two seconds on, two off."

He doesn't look to see if Steve's following the order, he can hear it in the gasps, in Steve's breathy, "Yes, sir," even though Clint hasn't asked for the honorific. That heat in his belly intensifies. He waits a while, placing little pecks on the hand he's still holding, basking in this. Whatever this is. Right now, it's two guys enjoying themselves by mutual agreement. 

"Have you thought about this before?" 

Steve's entire body shivers, but he doesn't stop, Clint's watching from the corner of his eye. 

"Y—yes."

"About anyone in particular, or?"

"You," Steve admits. "When—when you run drills, ordering everyone." He lets out a long sigh, like something just came loose, and Clint rewards him with another kiss to his fingertips. "Sometimes I just want to—You know, everyone expects me to be perfect all the time, to—to—"

"I know, baby," Clint interrupts. "Sometimes you just wanna be taken care of."

Steve nods, relief apparent in his wide eyes, and Clint lets him have this one. He lets go of Steve's hand and cups the side of his face. 

"All right, baby, I can do that. Remember the colors, though."

"Red stop, yellow pause, green go," Steve repeats, dutifully. 

"Good." Clint's smile grows and the giddiness returns tenfold. He lets go, scoots close enough to press against Steve's hip. "Now, baby, one last question."

Steve groans, like a brat. Clint shushes him. 

"This one's fun, I promise. Tell me, what did you think about when you called me sir? A commanding officer? Some guy you picked up at a bar?"

"No, just— _ You _ ."

Fuck. Right. Clint swallows thickly. 

"Stop touching yourself, baby," he orders just before he leans in for a kiss. 

Steve doesn't protest, but grabs at Clint's shoulder while Clint very determinedly keeps it chaste. And only when that low level whine forms in Steve's throat again does he coax his mouth open, plunges in. He keeps it slow, counts to ten times Steve thrusts in the air. He's rubbing against Clint's own dick when he does it, but he doesn't try to touch himself. 

So good for Clint. 

He leans back at last, leaving Steve panting on the bed. 

"Push the blanket aside and show me how hard lying here with me in the dark made you."

Hands shaky, Steve complies. He lies back down, hooks thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, and looks at Clint questioningly. 

"Come on, sweetness," Clint encourages. "Show me how wet you are."

Sure, it's not that bright in the room for Clint to see it in detail, but it seems the suggestion works as Steve shudders. He pushes the boxers down, dick standing hard and leaking in their wake. 

"Beautiful," Clint says, and rubs his palm over Steve's belly. He plucks at the t-shirt. "Take everything off."

Steve complies with minimal movement, seemingly careful not to jostle Clint's hand away. Still with elegant grace, muscles shifting under Clint's palm. Steve waits a bit, swallows audibly, and then asks, "What about you?"

"Hmm." Clint makes a show of thinking about it. Thing is, he's got a nasty bruise over his clavicle. His shoulder's fine, but the skin looks mottled enough to ruin the mood. "Tonight is for making you feel good, baby boy, but tell you what. If you're  _ really _ good, I'll let you suck me off. Put that pretty mouth to use."

A sharp inhale. 

"Green?"

"Green," Steve croaks. 

Clint chuckles. "You're so good already. Following my orders, answering my questions." Clint skirts his fingers over the head of Steve's dick. "I'm proud of my baby," he says and watches said member twitch. Sticky precome smears his fingers and he brings them to Steve's lips. 

He doesn't need prompting to lick, small darts of his tongue over and over, shy and innocent and Clint, frankly, can't be blamed for craving to see more of it. 

"This is what you'll do, baby. Rub yourself off, but don't come unless I tell you to. If you get close, you let go. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy. Begin."

Steve starts slowly, a loose fist around his dick, and Clint allows it for a while. "Faster, baby," he commands, and, "Squeeze harder," and Steve complies without pause every time. He's panting, sweat beading on his forehead when he lets go for the first time. 

Clint circles his nipple, pinches just enough to have it pebble, not really giving Steve a break. He squirms as Clint sucks on it. 

"Again, baby, stroke yourself."

This time around Steve doesn't last as long before he gives up. Clint treats his other nipple the same, slow and steady, and still draws gasps from Steve. Over and over. He's so fucking close, Clint can taste it. 

"That was twice now, wasn't it," he comments. "Let's try again. Touch yourself."

Steve wheezes, but with a shaking hand he starts again. Clint counts silently. "Ten seconds," he says, then, "Fifteen. You want it so bad, baby, don't you?" 

A whimper.

"Twenty. But you're my well behaved sweetheart, aren't you?"

Where Steve finds the strength to rasp a "Yes," is beyond Clint, but he does and pride swells in Clint's chest. 

"Can't wait to put you on your knees, Stevie, show everyone how well you follow instructions."

Steve lets go of himself as if burned. His eyes are wide, breath short. 

Clint's stomach flips. "Almost thirty seconds. Good job, baby." He lets Steve calm down a little. Not too much, just enough that he won't shoot his load as soon as Clint touches him. He places a kiss on Steve forehead before drawing up to his knees. 

"Now, sugar, pay attention a little bit. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, sir." Steve sounds wrecked. 

"I counted for you, so this time baby's counting for me. Yes?"

"Yes."

"I'll tell you when to start. You don't come until you reach thirty. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." 

He's already humping off the bed, unconsciously toward Clint, and Clint doesn't stretch it out. Perhaps another time. He bends down, licks a long strip over Steve's dick. Steve squirms, hands gripping at Clint's head involuntarily, then they fall onto his shoulders, then away, as if Steve doesn't know what to do with them while Clint gets him wet enough. 

At last, he looks up with a smirk. 

"Start now, baby."

Steve breathes in a determined 'one,' but the 'two' trembles when Clint takes him in his mouth. Single swoop, down to the root. He doesn't stop, opens his throat and pushes until Steve is fully tucked in, then swallows. 

Above him, a wail. The counting stutters, then picks back up again, twelve, a pause, then seven, eight, and Clint keeps swallowing. Steve's resilient, Clint will give him that, but he doesn't make it past fifteen. He comes, back arched taut, a fist planted in the wall above the bed, the fingers of the other hand clutching at Clint's hair. He doesn't mind it, not when he hasn't given specific instructions about that. Happy, he pulls off Steve with a long suck, allows the filthy slurp to follow as he lets go completely. 

Steve's breathless and Clint growls at it, tightness in his belly. So satisfying. He stretches back up, lies half on Steve, and receives a sloppy open-mouthed kiss for it. 

And then Steve rolls them over and latches on, eyebrows knitted in a frown, like he's afraid Clint will disappear. 

_ Damn.  _

Clint's not going to enforce that, no way. So he pulls Steve closer, until he's tucked against his chest, nestled neatly in his arms. 

"It's ok, baby," Clint coos. "I'm here." He rubs at Steve's back gently. "You did good, sweetness."

Steve shudders. 

"Yeah, baby. So good for me. So  _ proud  _ of you, Stevie." Clint places a kiss on top of Steve's head for good measure. Steve rewards him with a yawn and Clint laughs. 

He entangles their legs, and lets out a long exhale. 

He's content. 

Warm. 

Hardness pressed against Steve's thigh, Clint savors the way Steve's chest rises and falls in calm waves as he falls asleep. Nat called him out for this, once, asked him if he was a masochist. But sometimes Clint gets more out of giving pleasure than out of orgasming. He leans into it, lets the hot throb fade out as he succumbs to slumber himself. 

~

The alarm wakes them in the morning and they have to rush to the pick-up location, so there isn't time to really talk. Steve seems only a little bit awkward, but that's expected. Clint was awkward himself his first few times.

"Sorry I fell asleep," Steve finally says when they're all the way on the tarmac, quinjet glinting in the sun. "You—You didn't—"

Ah. So that's what's bothering him. "S'ok," he says with an easy smile, bumping their shoulders together. "Buy me some donuts and it will be forgotten."

Steve doesn't seem reassured, but the pilot is greeting them and any other conversations on the matter are best to be had in private.

~

A long flight later they're at the Avengers facility, but then Nat insists on immediate debrief. By the time Clint grabs a well deserved nap, it's morning again. 

Steve's conspicuously absent from breakfast and lunch. Sam shrugs when Clint asks after him. Rhodes and Wanda know nothing, either. Bucky hasn't made an appearance, so maybe Steve's with him, holed up somewhere, and that's not something to begrudge. So Clint waits, anticipation buzzing under his skin. 

Dinner's not a team event today, it seems, when everyone scatters about. A little off kilter, Clint slaps together a sandwich and takes a seat at the dinner table. Keeps himself visible, in case Steve returns. He sighs.

Two bites later and Steve strolls in. Clint's inner puppy perks up, metaphorical tail wagging, because yes,  _ there Steve is _ , and yes, he's carrying a box that could have donuts. Looks like it might have donuts. Clint's grin is as wide as it is uncontainable. 

Steve, though, scowls as he approaches. 

"Here's your fucking donuts," he grits. 

And then slams the box on the table with enough force to send a puff of powedered sugar all over Clint. 

The contents of his sandwich slide in his lap. 

Clint blinks, but Steve's long gone by the time he pulls himself out of the stupor. 

~

Rhodes whirs above them in the grand hangar, chasing after Sam. The others chatter, pumped up for the incoming practice. Tony's sent over some bots, to give them a dynamic challenge and this is the first time they're testing them as a team. Clint hasn't seen Steve in four days. No attempts of communication have been answered, and Clint's even tried their field comms. 

When Steve finally appears, he's haggard. Dark circles under his eyes, some straps of his uniform hanging unfastened, missing the shield. Everyone gathers toward him and he looks at them, one at a time. All except Clint. 

"Steve," Clint starts to say, but doesn't get further than that.

"Practice is cancelled," Steve mutters. 

He spins on his heel and leaves the same way he came. 

Nat turns to him. "What did you  _ do _ ?"

"I don't know," is all Clint can think. 

~

Clint spends the rest of the day and most of the night pacing in his room. He has half a mind to go banging on Steve's door, but he doubts it will do any good. Somehow, he's fucked up and he can't even tell why. 

He goes back over his time with Steve, painstakingly slow. As far as he can figure, he hasn't caused Steve discomfort. Something to do with the donuts, then, but Clint was joking. Thought he was joking. 

Fuck. Did Steve read something else into it?

He drags himself to breakfast without much appetite. Could use some coffee, though. Maybe advice, if Nat's around. 

Clint finds her in the kitchen, a stack of pancakes on the table. Clint grabs a mug, parks his butt on the chair next to her. Pancakes means Bucky cooked and Steve might make an appearance. Soon enough, Sam walks in, dragging a resisting Steve by the arm. 

A moment unfolds, when Steve sees Clint, when he wrenches out of Sam's grasp, but Bucky appears out of nowhere like the ghost he is and sits Steve down. 

They eat and Clint sips his coffee, stomach in knots. 

"Steve," Nat says slowly, "what did Clint do to you?"

Steve flushes in response, eyes deer-in-headlights wide, and Nat's own narrow as she glances between them. The chair falls when Steve stands up abruptly. He leaves so fast, it's almost running. 

"Clint," Nat hisses, just as Sam asks, "What happened?" 

To that, Nat groans, leaning back in her seat. "Clint fucked Steve."

Across from them, Bucky stops chewing. "Finally," he says. "He's been wanting to bed a fella since the '40s."

Clint's blood runs cold. Ice through his veins. "You're joking."

"Nah," Bucky says and shoves half a pancake in his mouth. Unconcerned. 

"Why aren't you worried?" Clint bursts, waving after Steve in vague explanation. 

Bucky sets his fork down. "I know you. You wouldn't hurt him on purpose. Sure, something crawled up his ass. He probably misunderstood what you said or did. It happens often with him when it's not about the fight. So you either wait, or go force it out of him."

"Sounds like Steve," Sam says. 

Nat smacks his arm with the back of her hand. "Go fix this."

~

That's how Clint ends up in front of Steve's door. He takes a few moments to get himself focused, pushes away insecurities and incredulity and every speculation he's turned over since that night. This conversation will be about Steve and what he wants and hopefully he'll want Clint some more. 

After a few unanswered knocks, Clint picks the lock. 

"I'm coming in," he announces. 

"Go away."

"We need to talk."

Steve is sitting at his desk, poking stubbornly at the keyboard. His laptop isn't even turned on as far as Clint can tell. 

"I need to know what I did wrong. Please, you have to tell me so I can make it right. Look, I had a great time and—"

A snarl reverberates across the room as Steve stands up. "Then why blackmail me, huh? Why donuts to" —Steve air quotes— "forget about it."

"That's not what I meant!" It comes out louder than he intended and Steve flinches. Clint draws a deep breath. "It was a joke, for falling asleep on me," he explains weakly. "I'm sorry it came across wrong."

He reaches out to reassure… to do  _ something  _ in the face of Steve's blank stare, but Steve jerks away. 

Clint lets his arm fall. He closes his eyes briefly, swallows the lump in his throat. 

"Okay," he says. "I won't touch you again. Please let me know if I need to take a leave, and how long it should be. We can't let this affect our working relationship."

~

At the end of the hallway he runs into Bucky, who places his flesh palm on Clint's shoulder. The contact grounds him for the few beats it takes to shove the rejection aside, to be dealt with later. He forces a smile, but he's not sure it forms properly. 

"It was a misunderstanding," he explains, stretched thin all of a sudden. 

"Go back in there."

"But he—"

"Go back. Don't give up on him so fast.  _ Please _ ." That last bit is nothing more than a whisper and it convinces Clint to trudge to Steve's room once more. 

He has to pick the lock again, but this time Steve's curled up on the bed, on his side, looking as miserable as a wet cat. Clint perches on the edge of the mattress, careful not to touch, a leg tucked underneath so he can look at Steve. The half of Steve's face that's not pressed against the comforter is covered by his palm. Clint's fingers itch to pull it off, but he refrains, summons patience instead. 

"I'm really sorry I hurt you," Clint says. "I made a stupid joke when you were vulnerable and that's on me. It's all my fault."

Steve shakes his head in disagreement just as he removes the hand. His eyes are wet. 

"So some of it is your fault."

Steve looks away, but he rasps a muted, "Yeah."

"To be clear, you agree that we both hold some blame in this. That I should've been more sensitive and you shouldn't have jumped to conclusions."

He blinks, some of the wetness clinging to his eyelashes, and Clint aches to wipe at it. 

"Yes," Steve finally says, faint but there. 

Clint's shoulders slump. He considers what to do next. Steve's eyes are trained somewhere ahead, unseeing. There are options, here. He could withdraw, leave Steve to get over this bump. But then he thinks of Steve with someone else and the thought twists nastly in his chest. 

Damn again. 

Looks like he's going to have to at least try. They work well together and they could be amazing, in and out of the bedroom, if they stop being morons. Steve himself admitted to having watched Clint, and the way he took the blow of rejection—albeit a perceived one—gives Clint hope. 

"Was that your first time with a man?" he asks, aiming for the biggest of all the issues to be untangled here. 

Steve draws in breath to answer but it turns into a gasp and then a sob. He curls up on himself even more, chest heaving. Clint hurts for him, for the way he fails to get himself under control. 

"I told you—things—" Steve stutters, inhales short. "Never told anyone before. And then—then you—I thought you didn't want to—I thought—" 

"Thank you for trusting me, Steve. I appreciate it and I cherish it, believe me. I hope you can trust me again, in the future. Maybe we can explore more of each other, if you're willing."

On the bed, Steve stills. A second later, he jackknifes to sitting. His face is wet and he rubs at it with his sleeves. 

"Really," he whispers. "You want—" He motions between them and Clint nods firmly. 

"Yes."

Steve licks his lips. "Not just sex. I want more than sex."

"Okay."

A frown. "That's it? Okay?"

"What do you want me to say? I like you. If dating is on the table, then yes, I want it."

Little by little, Steve relaxes. His face loses its scrunch as he processes this, as it undoubtedly registers that he's getting what he wants. Clint's inner puppy yips, but he holds the joy back. It's not time yet. 

"Then," Steve says, "why aren't you calling me—you know." He swallows, a flush rising to his cheeks. 

"Because this conversation can't happen from an imbalance of power. This is a strategy meeting."

Steve blinks at him and Clint rolls his shoulders. 

"I'm gonna be forward with you. I have a pretty wide array of kinks and frankly vanilla stuff doesn't do anything for me. A relationship like that is difficult enough without us being idiots, so we'll have to have a lot of ground rules. Most important of which is communication."

Steve nods. 

"It means telling me things, no matter how embarrassing. I can't read your mind. Do you get it? No more avoiding me crap. You think I messed up, you call me out on it. I will  _ not  _ be mad and it will  _ never  _ reflect in our sex life."

"I understand." He sounds like he does.

Clint takes a deep breath. 

"So..." Steve trails off.

"Yes?"

"Will all sex be like that? Not that I'm complaining," he backtracks and Clint lifts a hand to stop him. 

"That's not a decision for now. You're new to this, so I propose we explore your boundaries first. See where you stand. I'll suggest things, but refusal is always an option. You can also tell me what you'd like to try. There aren't many things I won't do, but I draw a hard no at unhygienic stuff or permanent bodily harm. It's why talking is very important. To avoid hurting each other."

Steve swallows and looks down at his hands resting in his lap. 

"As for sex without submission," Clint plows on, "I have a workaround. Turns out I do  _ really  _ well with roleplay. Wanna make out like teenagers at the movies? All I ask is you pretend to be a teenager with me."

That gets him a reaction, wide-eyes, mouth open, and Clint smiles. 

"I'm not perfect, Steve. I have my hang ups, but I'm willing to tell you all about them. So think about it and let me kn—"

"I wanna do it." It comes out so rushed on one sharp exhale, that the words crowd against each other. 

"May I touch you?" 

Steve reaches out first. 

"Kiss?"

Eager and shy and now that Clint knows why, he's putting everything in this kiss. Keeps it gentle, lips slightly parted, slow as he can. 

He lets go sooner than he'd like, but now is not the time to take this further. Steve looks like he hasn't been sleeping, so Clint shifts to lean back against the headboard. He pulls at Steve until he's resting on Clint's chest, wraps his arms around him.

"Nap first," he says, rubbing at Steve back. "And we'll talk more after." 

~

'After' turns out to be a few days later because an emergency of the mission-kind takes them by surprise. The entire team is cranky and by collective silent agreement, they postpone the debrief, instead scattering wherever they go. Steve, though, follows Clint. In the hallway leading to their rooms, Clint pauses. 

"Shower first, then come over." 

Steve grins and rushes off. 

By the time Clint emerges from his own bathroom, Steve is already there, sweatpants and t-shirt clinging to his still damp skin. He's nervous, that much is clear, in the way he stands next to the bed, wringing his hands, and Clint's chest warms. 

"Do you want me to make you come?" Clint asks in an echo of their other time together.

Steve nods.

"While ordering you around."

This time the nod comes with a bouncy rock on Steve's heels. Clint chuckles.

"Use your words, baby."

"Yes, please."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's a good boy," Clint praises, delighted by the way Steve's cheeks redden. Now that there's actual light in the room, Clint can see how deep that flush really is. It makes his insides squirm. "Since you've been so good last time, I believe you're owed a reward. You get to suck me off tonight. What color is that?"

"Green," Steve breathes. "Definitely green, but I haven't—"

Clint kisses him gently. "That's ok, we'll go slow. All you have to do is follow instructions and we both know how well you do that, don't we? Let me worry about everything else."

The exhale that leaves Steve is shaky and Clint takes a few moments to pet the sides of his face, his neck, his shoulders. Steve takes it with eyes closed, the tension in his body lessening. After he lets go, Clint sits on the bed, back against the wall, and palms himself through his towel. Steve licks his lips. 

"Clothes off, sugar."

Steve complies, even folds them up and sets them on the armchair in the corner. When he turns back, he stands and waits, half hard already, and Clint thrums. The way Steve just waits for orders is more pleasant than it should, at this point in their budding relationship. He's painfully inexperienced, but it just shows how  _ good  _ they could be together. There's  _ so much _ potential, Clint's giddy to the point that if he had a tail, it would be wagging incessantly. 

"Touch yourself," he commands. 

Steve does so, long fingers up and down his shaft, over and over, until he's hard and Clint utters, "Enough."

Clint spreads his legs. 

"All right, baby," he says. "You're going to lie down on the bed, here." He pats the space left open in front of him. "On your belly."

Again, Steve follows through, letting Clint arrange him into position, and soon he's leaning up on his elbows, face over Clint's crotch. Clint hums while Steve bucks against the bed. 

"Spread your legs wide as you can. Good. Now reach down and push your dick down between your legs. I wanna see it. Besides, we don't wanna give you the opportunity to become naughty and rub yourself off before I tell you, do we?"

Steve whines low in his throat while he does this, then settles back. He looks up, expectant. Clint runs a thumb over his cheek. 

"Does it pinch? Hurt anywhere?"

"No," Steve rasps. His hips hump and he whines again, not getting enough pressure. 

Clint smirks, thumb shifting to part Steve's lips. 

"Hands on my thighs. Gather spit in your mouth so your tongue is wet."

Steve complies and Clint opens the towel, then takes himself in hand. 

"Small licks, baby. Like a popsicle. Get me wet, too."

His stomach flips at the concentration on Steve's face. From time to time the muscles of his legs tense, but there's a sort of serenity settling over him as he licks and kisses and licks some more at Clint's dick. He runs the fingers of his free hand through Steve's hair.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

Steve hums, eyelashes fluttering. 

"What do you like most about right now?"

With a smack of his lips, Steve pauses, considering. He tucks his head and Clint's about to press, when he speaks, soft and low. "That I feel small. And safe." He looks up then, adds, "With you," and Clint's dick twitches. 

"I'm really happy you feel safe, Stevie."

It earns him a smile, tiny and shy. Clint scratches at the back of Steve's head. 

"Scoot a little forward, darling." 

Steve moves, muscles shifting fluidly, giving Clint so many ideas involving ropes, he has to make an effort to focus on the present. 

"Take the tip in," Clint instructs. He wraps his entire palm around himself, leaving exposed only the bit he wants Steve to taste first. "Suck gently, mindful of the teeth. Good, use your tongue, too." 

Shiver after shiver runs down Clint's spine as he drinks in the sensations. On the comforter there's a pool of precome forming from Steve dick. He breathes in slowly, then out, centering himself. 

"That feels amazing, sugar. Let go a little," he says and Steve looks up at him, mouth and red most likely hot. Clint leans down to place a kiss on it. "Let's try something else now. Cover your teeth with your lips, like so." He demonstrates and waits for Steve to try. "Great. I want you to relax your shoulders and let me guide you down, okay?"

"Okay," Steve says around a swallow, before he opens his mouth again, tight little O formed by his stretched lips. 

"Relax your jaw, baby," Clint tells him and pushes him down.

He goes slow, sliding into the wet heat of Steve's mouth tiny bit by tiny bit, until he can feel the back of it coming up. 

"You're going to gag," he warns.

As expected, Steve spasms around the intrusion, sound forced from his throat, and Clint lets him up. He swallows, blinks quickly. 

Gently, Clint runs a thumb over his cheek, but keeps his palm where it cradles Steve's head. "That's your limit, baby. Again."

Obediently, Steve complies. He's expecting it this time, because he tenses, yet still reacts so beautifully. Clint measures with his fingers where he stops, waits for him to gulp a large breath. 

"See, this is how much you took." Clint makes a show of it, spit glistening on the skin, although it's barely half his shaft. "That's really good, baby boy."

Steve looks between his dick and Clint face in quick succession. "But when you… How?"

A laugh rips out of Clint, leaving warmth in its wake. "With a lot of practice. Sweetness," he says when Steve purses his lips, "if you want to, we can work up to it. I would love to fuck your throat, baby." 

A sharp inhale and Steve's hips thrust against the bed. He nods a little, looking unsure, and Clint leaves that topic for another time. 

"What if I can't do it?"

"That's fine, too. Color?"

"Green," comes the immediate response. 

"Good, ready to try more?"

"Yes, sir."

Clint smiles. "We'll do lips over teeth like last time, but now also suck, like earlier. Use your tongue, too."

Steve goes at it with renewed vigor. He's enthusiastic, tries really hard to keep his bite covered, even though he slips a couple of times. Clint hums with pleasure and slides his fingers down half an inch. 

"Careful baby, don't choke yourself."

A hot white jolt runs from Clint's belly up his chest to settle into the back of his own throat when Steve inevitably gags. 

"Don't stop, unless the color is not green anymore."

Steve continues, a little more carefully, but he still manages to hit the back of his mouth with the tip of Clint's dick. Fuck, he's beautiful, panting with wet cheeks, sniffling on the inhales.

"Stop."

With a shudder, Steve pops off. Looks up, raw and open. His hand moves, no doubt to wipe at his messy face, but Clint catches it. 

"Come up here, sweetheart," he says as he tugs. 

Steve's sits on his lap, shivering lightly, and Clint grips the sides of his neck with both palms. 

"My  _ beautiful  _ baby boy," he breathes. "You did so good, so fucking  _ excellent _ . Really proud of you, Stevie."

Oh, and there's that whine, the flush, the way Steve can't seem to catch himself from bucking forward. Clint kisses the tears away from his cheeks, grabs a tissue to wipe his nose, licks away at the drool on his chin, tongue rasping over the stubble. When done, he pulls Steve closer, wraps a hand around both their shafts. 

"Fuck into my hand, baby," he orders. 

There's very little rhythm to Steve's movements by now. Clint sucks hickeys on his neck, holding onto him while Steve makes delicious little raspy noises. 

"Come for me, sweetheart."

He's not expecting immediate obedience, Steve's not trained, but he thrusts once, twice, and then spills hotly all over Clint's dick. Clint takes him in, lips parted, red with friction, gasping for air, trembling—

He comes with a little grunt, unable to look away.

Steve calms slowly, and Clint waits patiently, petting his thighs in steady movements. Watches for any sign of discomfort. Soon enough, Steve's a little more aware of his surroundings. 

He grins a little, and Clint matches it. 

"Good?"

"Yes," Steve replies. But then something switches because his gaze shifts down, and his voice cracks. "Do I have to go?"

This is what Clint's been waiting for. 

"It's against the rules, baby."

Steve blinks at him. "It is?"

"Well, we can  _ make it _ a rule. This is aftercare and I really,  _ really  _ want you to stay. I  _ need  _ you to stay with me after. Think you can do that?"

"Yes! Wait, you're not just saying that—"

"No. I enjoy this part just as much as everything else. This is when I get to clean you up, and hold you, and kiss you. I need it. So unless there's an emergency, or you throw me out, I won't leave after." 

In the face of Steve's obvious relief, Clint has the sudden urge to stab whoever it was that taught Steve otherwise. For fuck's sake. Clint keeps his feelings to himself, though, as he cleans them both up. Soon enough, he's lying back under the comforter, Steve tucked against his side.

"I'm sorry, too," Steve mumbles against Clint's shoulder. 

"What for?"

"For avoiding you. And for throwing donuts at you."

"Apology accepted," Clint says. "Speaking of donuts—"

"I owe you some." He smiles up at Clint and Clint leans down to kiss him. "How's dinner sound?"

"Donuts for dinner," Clint comments. "I like that."

"No, for a date."

Steve pinches his side and Clint laughs. He's warm and content and the thing that's been swelling in his chest overflows. 

His mind floats, alight.

~End~


End file.
